


In the Shadows

by IntoTheRiverStyx



Series: The Stories We Tell [7]
Category: Arthurian Mythology
Genre: Found Family, M/M, Post-Battle of Camlann, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-23
Updated: 2020-02-23
Packaged: 2021-02-28 02:21:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,603
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22856143
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IntoTheRiverStyx/pseuds/IntoTheRiverStyx
Summary: Seasons change and so do people. Galahad tries to talk with Mordred about parentage. Mordred tries to understand where Galahad is coming from. Kai's having A Time with everything.Bedivere, if no one else, has some social graces.
Relationships: Bedivere/Kay (Arthurian), Galahad/Mordred (Arthurian)
Series: The Stories We Tell [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1608088
Kudos: 20





	In the Shadows

Spring's mildness had began to fade into summer's heat. The rains were warmer, but still cold enough to curse when shelter was unavailable. The animals were growing bold, hunger and rut stealing what little faculties they had to begin with.

The Company was finishing breaking down camp in their own ways, which was to say Kai was doing most of the work while Galahad checked the horses, Mordred buried the fire pit, and Bedivere took stock of their weaponry.

“No!” Kai exclaimed as he threw a rock at a stag that was wandering ever-closer to the bag with their food stores in it, “Out of the supplies!” The rock hit the animal square on the shoulder but did nothing to deter its pursuit of easy, free food.

“You're just going to make it angry,” Bedivere warned but did not stop examining the sword he was in the middle of checking.

Mordred and Galahad watched from what they judged to be a safe distance, man against animal in the least engaging of ways.

“It's making me angry,” Kai seethed. He picked up another rock and threw it closer to the ground this time. The rock skipped a few times before thumping against one of the deer's front hooves. The deer snorted and shoot his head, yet still pressed closer to the bag with their supplies.

“Is no one else,” Kai punctuated his sentence with another thrown rock, “at least a little concerned that a lone stag is trying to eat our food stores?”

“It's not that I'm not concerned,” Mordred called, “more an issue with its antlers and me not having armor.”

“Us not having armor,” Galahad corrected.

“Besides, you'd need a full suit of armor if you're going to go against a stag,” Bedivere sighed. He stood up, sword hung loosely in his hand, flat side forward rather than the edge, “It's a deer, Kai.”

“I know what it is,” Kai hissed, “and that is exactly why I'm not trying to engage it in hand-to-hand combat.”

“If it's not afraid of us, it's starving,” Bedivere walked towards the animal, “and if it's starving, it's going to be more inclined to give up its life than some food.”

“Then why are you – get back here!” Kai stopped mid-throw to watch Bedivere walk right up to the young stag.

“Come on,” Bedivere hit the animal on the shoulder with the flat side of the sword, “leave off.”

“He's going to kill it,” Galahad said to Mordred.

“What are we going to do with an entire deer?” Mordred asked.

“Tie it to one of the horses,” Bedivere called back to them, “Someone will have to double up on another horse. This almost feels unsportsmanlike.”

“Either kill it or leave it alone,” Kai dropped the rock he was still holding, “I'm not fond of the thought of you getting into hand-to-hand, hand-to-hoof, er, dammit Bedivere, knock it off.”

“Fine,” Bedivere shrugged.

He stabbed the stag clear through its lung and heart, piercing its other lung. The sword was withdrawn just as quickly with a twist of Bedivere's wrist. He leapt backwards and clear out of the way.

The stag didn't even have enough life left in him to finish turning to see what happened.

It fell with flailing legs bent at horrible angles, mouth open in what was now an endless, silent scream.

“We take it into the nearest town,” Bedivere wiped the sword on his hose, “and see if anyone is willing to buy. If not, we butcher it ourselves and have venison for days.”

Galahad was the first to move to drag the carcass towards the horses. Only Kai's beast did not try to skitter away from the smell of death, so it was Kai's horse they tied it to. Galahad and Bedivere worked on securing the stag while Mordred and Kai secured everyone's bags.

“You are a war horse,” Galahad scolded his beast, “The least you could do is act like you've seen death before.”

“I have a feeling the last deaths he saw weren't as clean,” Kai said as he checked the ties.

“Yours stood still,” Galahad frowned.

“You didn't train yours,” Kai shrugged, “The thing's secure. Let's get moving before we start attracting flies.”

Galahad was on his horse in a single, over-exaggerated step. Mordred went with the jump-lean-throw a leg-over method.

“We haven't really coordinated this,” Bedivere said as he and Kai stood next to his horse.

“I can ride behind,” Kai said, “He knows your reining.” Bedivere shrugged and mounted first. Once he was settled, Kai took some time getting himself situated, careful to ensure he would not slip backwards or bruise himself on the back of the saddle.

He wrapped one arm around Bedivere and whistled for his horse. With a snap of his fingers, his beast came to a halt next to his hand. Kai untied one side of the reins and wrapped the leather strap around his hand. A gentle tug that accompanied Kai wrapping his other arm around Bedivere saw Kai's horse's shoulder lined up with Bedivere's horse's flank.

“If the road gets too narrow, I will re-tie the rein and have him follow,” Kai said, “Mordred, Galahad, I want both of you in front so he knows he's to follow rather than find his own way.”

Galahad nodded and nudged his horse into motion. Mordred followed suit.

“Good?” Bedivere whispered.

“Good as I'm going to be,” Kai assured him.

With a soft kick, everyone was moving towards what they hoped was the nearest town.

–

The came upon a small village too close to sundown to Kai's liking. He slid off Bedivere's horse and landed with too much weight on his injured leg. He hissed but remained standing. Bedivere frowned.

“Boys,” Bedivere called to the other two, “Take my horse and find us all a place to sleep for the night. We'll find you once we've taken care of the stag.”

Bedivere dismounted and handed his reigns to Mordred, who passed them off to Galahad. Galahad shrugged and dismounted himself, one set of reigns in each hand once he was securely on the ground.

“Kai,” Bedivere said quietly, “Why did you do that?”

“Wasn't thinking,” Kai admitted, “Come on, there has to be someone who wants this godforsaken beast.”

Bedivere shrugged and stayed close to Kai, just in case.

–

The town was too small to have a proper inn, but it did have a tavern and the local smith was glad to exchange some of Mordred's coin for the keeping of the horses.

The tavern, despite not having an inn attached to it, did offer a fairly disused storeroom with a window and two pallets for coin or chores. Galahad opted for chores without consulting Mordred.

“Really?” Mordred asked once they'd gone back outside to look for the other two and let them know what was going on.

“We're going to run out of coin eventually,” Galahad shrugged, “and a few chores won't hurt.”

“I have never done chores,” Mordred recoiled, “Ever.”

“Right,” Galahad was caught between amused and appalled, “Prince.”

Mordred snarled but withheld any retorts. Galahad frowned and kept walking back towards where they'd last seen Kai and Bedivere.

“They said they'd find us,” Mordred reminded the younger Knight.

“We can at least take the horse to the smith,” Galahad pointed out, “Maybe see about getting any blood off his coat.”

“Ew,” Mordred couldn't repress a sneer, “I hadn't thought of that.”

Galahad nearly asked what state Mordred thought the horses had been in after the battle, who he thought cleaned the blood off then. He stopped himself, but his steps faltered.

Mordred caught the near-stumble and glanced over. Galahad's brows were drawn tight and his eyes were so fixed ahead of him that Mordred could tell he was avoiding something.

“I've never bathed horses either,” Mordred tried to guess what Galahad was thinking.

“In general they only need bathing before a tournament or a feast,” Galahad said, “But that's all mud and such. Blood...not as frequent as a thing horses have to worry about.”

Mordred cast a glance back at the stables.

“The ones we're riding, do you think they saw the worst of battle like Kai's horse?”

Galahad shook his head. “I wasn't cavalry, but knowing...knowing our fathers, they rode out front with the bannermen and then dismounted before the fighting began.”

Mordred stopped walking and reached out to put a hand on Galahad's shoulder. Galahad stopped and turned around to face the other man.

“Mo?” Galahad tilted his head.

“Thanks,” Mordred said.

“You're welcome?” Galahad felt like he'd only have more questions if he said anything else.

“The others,” Mordred paused, “Kai and Bedivere. They don't tell me these things.”

“He was your father,” Galahad said as if that was all the reasoning Mordred needed to hear.

“And I started the war that killed him,” Mordred shrunk in on himself.

“Come,” Galahad touched Mordred's elbow lightly, “I have a feeling whatever conversation we're about to have is going to be better somewhere at least a little secluded.”

–

Kai was more focused on not letting his leg drag than he was the entire exchange over the stag, so when he heard Bedivere shout, “I don't want any of your fucking chickens and under no circumstances do I want to fuck any of your chickens,” he was a little taken back.

“You're going to get more from the chickens by food or by fuck than you'll get coin from this entire town,” the butcher argued.

Kai put a tired hand on Bedivere's shoulder.

“Fine,” Bedivere threw up his arms, “take the entire goddamned carcass.”

Bedivere turned on his heel and marched out, leaving Kai to shrug helplessly at the angry butcher and try to walk out rather than limp.

Bedivere was just outside the shop untying Kai's horse when Kai caught up to him.

“So uh,” Kai started, “what?”

“Ah, shit,” Bedivere's anger receded, “Kai I didn't even think – your leg – shit.”

“Leg second,” Kai said through gritted teeth, “Chickens first.”

“Long story short,” Bedivere sighed, “he said he didn't have coin to pay for the stag, so I offered less coin if we got to take the meat. The coin-to-meat ration kept shifting until he started offering to trade chickens for the stag and, really Kai, _chickens_ of all things. I don't want any fucking chickens. And I don't know if he's daft or was trying to get me to walk off like I did, but he said 'If you don't want any fucking chickens how about fucking some chickens,” and I snapped.”

“That's,” Kai found himself at a loss for words, “This is the first time in my life I haven't had a reply.”

“I'm just glad your head was somewhere else for the most of it,” Bedivere shook his head, “I hate losing control.”

“Of your temper?” Kai asked.

Bedivere offered Kai a small, sad smile. “Of anything.”

Bedivere handed Kai the reigns. Kai exhaled sharply through his nose and decided, bloodied saddle be damned, he had to get on the horse.

Bedivere watched Kai haul himself onto the beast's saddle and opted to walk alongside them.

–

The only remotely private spot Galahad could think of that wasn't outside of town was the tavern's storeroom.

Galahad pulled Mordred towards the floor and Mordred crouched down slowly, one knee resting on the floorboards. They were so covered with dirt that it was little better than kneeling outside.

“Maybe we should have asked to see the room first,” Galahad frowned.

“It's not too late to sleep outside,” Mordred suggested.

“We'll see how it goes with the stag,” Galahad was sitting directly on the floor, “I don't think this town likes outsiders.”

“At least they're not openly hostile,” Mordred put a little more weight on his knee, “but yeah, doesn't seem like it.”

“If they're as hungry and get as little commerce as it seems, people like us have probably been bad news on the best visits,” Galahad looked around the room, “Anyways. He was your father, Mordred, regardless of what happened.”

“I might as well have killed him myself,” Mordred closed his eyes and rested his palms on the knee that wasn't on the floor, “for all the good knowing that did.”

Galahad's frown deepened. He reached out to Mordred but withdrew his hand almost as quickly.

“And I absolutely got my mother killed,” Mordred continued, “and Lot. And hundreds of other men, for what? Truth?”

Galahad did reach out this time, fingertips light against the back of Mordred's hand.

“Everything we're doing right now is about distorting the truth,” Mordred let his other knee hit the floor, “and I can't help but realize the truth is what got everyone killed.”

“I know nothing of Orkney,” Galahad's voice was almost uncharacteristically firm, “but I know I can speak for Camelot when I say they would rather have died on the field than at court.”

“Camelot's men were...better,” Mordred tried to find the words, “The men who followed Gaheris, they were lied to and enraged over something that was so far from what actually happened. They died for my brother's pride, not their king.”

Mordred's shoulders fell forward and his head bowed. He worried the edges of his sleeves with such ferocity Galahad thought he would rent the fabric.

“I just wanted to know where I belonged,” Mordred let Galahad grab his hands, “I wanted to know if everything I grew up believing was true.”

“And what did you grow up believing?” Galahad realized he was using his father's magics without losing his own thoughts.

“That I was a bastard to a king who would rather be feared than respected,” Mordred answered before he could talk himself out of it, “That I would never be able to see anything worth peace, worth fighting for, worth the renown my brothers had in myself.

“If I could prove I was Arthur's son, I thought,” Mordred's words broke off, “What was it like, being Lancelot's son?”

“Aside from Lancelot, Arthur, Guinevere, Kai, and Bors,” Galahad squeezed Mordred's hand for his own comfort, “I do not believe anyone else knew for sure. I know there were rumors – I'm not deaf – and the other Knights were not so blind as to let how heavily Lancelot favored me go unnoticed. But out loud? I was a child Bors and Kai brought back and kept close. Some people thought I was Bors' bastard, actually.”

“Bors?” Mordred laughed despite himself, “You look nothing like him.”

“Sometimes there are major incongruities,” Galahad pointed out, “And I did come back with him.”

“And Kai,” Mordred argued.

“Do you think for a second anyone would have believed Kai would have fathered a child,” Galahad's jaw went slack, “Be honest.”

“I didn't know Kai,” Mordred recoiled a bit, “Still don't, really.”

“Well,” Galahad cleared his throat, “trust me, then, that of Kai and Bors, Bors was a much, much more likely candidate.”

Mordred opened his eyes, expecting to see signs of mockery on Galahad's face. Instead he saw a purposefully neutral expression only betrayed by the sorrow in his eyes.

“But to be Lancelot's son,” Galahad tried to answer, “to be a child raised at the Round Table of the High King of Britain, it meant that it was decided that I was destined to be a Knight who could out-fight my peers both with weapons, with words, and with upholding the laws of King and God before I understood what any of those things were.”

Mordred watched as Galahad's expression changed from neutral to strained to distressed.

He tugged at Galahad's hand, causing the younger man to lean forward instinctively.

“This whole mess is the first time in my life I get to choose for myself,” Galahad hung his head in shame, “and I'm too fucking ashamed of finding any joy in that to make many choices.”

Mordred thought back on the months they had been on the road – how Galahad only voiced his opinion first when he was afraid resources were low, how the younger man always heeded to someone else, how quick Galahad was to try to keep tensions low.

Mordred had seen the Knights come to blows outside the Round Table chamber and nearly come to blows at the table. He realized, for the first time, that Galahad was no stranger to violence so barely provoked it would have seemed unprovoked to an outsider.

“We've both formed our lives around balancing what's been decided for us with learning how not to get struck, haven't we?” Mordred asked.

“Seems so,” Galahad realized he hadn't let go of Mordred's hand. He released it, only to have Mordred grab his hand again. Galahad froze but did not try to take his hand away again.

“I'm trying to get used to it,” Mordred told him, “the touching without getting struck or pushed or beat afterwards.”

“When I was little,” Galahad sniffed before he realized the sound had escaped him, “I mean really, really little, as in the first year or two at Camelot, many of the Knights would let me sit on their laps while court was in session. Then all the sudden one day I was sat in a chair and had to stay there. No more laps, no more kind hugs, no more...anything really. It was like there was a collective decision that I was going to learn how to be a man.”

“Sounds like a steep learning curve,” Mordred tried to sound sympathetic.

“It was,” Galahad let all the air out of his lungs, “Seeing Kai and Bedivere so free with their affections in ways, well, you saw everyone.”

“It was like more than a moment of affection in view of others was a sign of weakness,” Mordred finished for him.

“From what I could tell, it was a fear that any personal connection stronger than the weakest personal connection was a threat,” Galahad tried to remember the exact realization he'd had as a child, “Er, that favoring one member of the court in front of the others gave a feeling on inequity? I had better words at one point.”

“I follow,” Mordred assured him, “Lot and my mother and my brothers were, well, to call them distant would be the nicest thing I could say about that.”

“You wore Orkney's heraldry to battle,” Galahad changed the conversation's trajectory on a sharp pivot, “not your own.”

“Nor did Agrivane,” Mordred shook his head, “Gaheris felt we did not deserve it, as between my actions and his, the deaths of his parents were our fault.”

“Fuck,” Galahad swore.

“You recognized me, though, didn't you?” Mordred finally asked, “It wasn't chance you pulled me to my feet and not someone else, was it?”

“It's the way you swing,” Galahad told him, “You pull back during your follow-through in a way that allows you to change direction without having to worry about your balance.”

Mordred just stared at Galahad, unsure of what to say or how to feel about the attention to detail.

–

Bedivere dropped Kai off at the tavern and went to see where the other horses were stabled.

He eventually found the smith, who informed him the 'generous young lads' had already paid for the stall and care. Bedivere shrugged and asked if the money paid included cleaning the saddle as well.

“I see you've had a run-in with that bastard of a butcher,” the smith laughed, “Not much we can do about him. Right ornery fellow, but no one around here knows their way around knives better than he does.”

“Well, there'll be fresh stag for sale once he's done with it,” Bedivere shook his head, “Might have some odd cuts from the initial wound.”

“Your boys seemed tougher than the average traveler,” the smith told Bedivere, “and kinder.”

“They're good men,” Bedivere assured him.

“There's good men and then there's kind men,” the smith corrected, “They're kind men.”

“At least one of them may argue that,” Bedivere couldn't help but smile, “Not me, but one of them.”

The smith laughed and clapped Bedivere on the shoulder. “I could barely get a word out of them beyond what the horses needed.”

“Huh,” was all Bedivere said.

“How long are you here?” the smith asked.

“Truthfully?” Bedivere answered, “I do not know.”

“Well if you're here longer than a night, the townsfolk could use some kindness,” the smith confided.

“What happened?” Bedivere asked.

The smith's laughter died in his throat.

–

It was eleven summers ago that a band of warriors came through from the south. Rough men, displaced after losing a war their king sent them into without thought or consideration.

They had gone against the High King's armies and lost so badly they swore surrender would have been the better option.

They were headed up north, they said, to go find a king who wasn't a coward. The innkeep asked them what was wrong with fighting for the High King, especially since the land they hailed from was his now. One of them – big fellow – struck him so hard he knocked out three of the innkeep's back teeth.

They stayed for months and ran the town dry. Food stores, livestock, even our extra clothing. Anyone who dared to stand up to them was struck if they were lucky.

Once they decided they had nothing more to take from us, they moved on. We didn't have the means to rebuild right away, so people who might have stayed in the immediate aftermath kept moving.

–

“I know, why don't we move ourselves?” the smith crossed his arms and held his head high, “This is our home, has been home to most of us for generations. We keep faith that we will be a town worth stopping in again one day.”

“Home is a sacred place,” Bedivere agreed. The smith's proud edges dulled a little, the worry over Bedivere's judgment dissipating.

“Your boys look plenty strong,” the smith's voice was more guarded, “and so do you. Now, nobody around here is going to flat-out ask for help, but if you three have time on your hands, there is plenty to do.”

“There's four of us,” Bedivere told him, “but I can see what they think.”

“They're probably in the tavern's store room,” the smith told him, “It used to hold food, but well. There's hardly enough of that to need its own room and the inn...”

“...didn't survive those bastards, did it?” Bedivere guessed.

“Was attached to the tavern, not above it,” the smith shook his head, “They leveled it maybe three days before they moved on, so drunk they couldn't speak more than a word at a time clearly. Something about proving they were still strong. It made no sense but everyone was so afraid of them by that point.

“You have to understand, they had weapons we could never afford, never dream of learning to wield.”

Bedivere made a humming sound that originated somewhere deep in his chest.

“I will talk with my Company,” Bedivere assured him.

The smith nodded, a sign Bedivere understood meant it was time to find his Company.

–

All four members of the Company sat on the floor of the storeroom. Bedivere finished recounting what the smith had told him with a pointed look at each of the other three men in turn.

“Eleven summers ago would have put it at the battle against the man who fancied himself King in Tristan's absence,” Galahad said, “Or, whatever the more exact thing was. Can't say I was told much.”

“You two would have been training more than sitting in on meetings,” Bedivere told them, “but yes.”

“Even if staying a bit and helping what that war's ripple effects caused isn't going to help with the ripples from the more recent one,” Mordred said, “It feels like the right thing.”

“We can go in the morning and get more details,” Kai nodded, “If they're looking to rebuild the inn, we're not architects.”

“But someone has to be,” Galahad argued, “The town didn't build itself. It may be an issue of physical strength to compliment the know-how.”

“If that's the case,” Bedivere was chewing on the inside of his cheek, “then we can definitely be of help.”

Mordred opened his mouth to say something, but closed it again.

“What?” Bedivere held up his partial arm, “Is it this?”

“What? No,” Mordred flinched, “More, I know my shoulder didn't heal correctly from the mace blow it received, and I haven't had to do any heavy lifting since the battle. I'm...worried I won't be as able to help as I should be.”

“We'll deal with that when we get there,” Bedivere told him, “Why didn't you say anything sooner?”

“I didn't want to slow anyone down,” Mordred tried to explain.

Bedivere and Galahad exchanged a Look that caused Kai and Mordred to glance at each other, silently asking if the other knew what the Look was about.

“The Inn was stone, yes?” Galahad asked. Bedivere nodded, “Okay, good, because at least stone won't have taken nearly as much damage from just sitting there. An Inn is a lot of stone, and I have a feeling it will have had a wooden frame or something, but at least we won't have to cut stone for it, just get it to adhere back together.”

“You've built?” Bedivere asked, shock not hidden.

“I've watched the process,” Galahad shrugged, “Before, well, before the incident with the fair folk, we'd sometimes spend a day or a week in a strange town just to have a little time to catch our breath and rest our bodies. Some towns are more ambitious than others when it comes to adding buildings and carving out new farms.”

“Makes sense,” Mordred nodded.

“In the morning,” Bedivere yawned, “we find out how useful we can actually be. For tonight, we find supper and figure out what chores we've signed ourselves up for.”

“It was my decision,” Galahad was quick to say, “What chores I signed everyone up for.”

“Galahad,” Bedivere tried to sound gentle rather than chastising, “While we're doing this, whatever _this_ is, we're a unit. A Company. What one decides insofar as actions to be taken, we all decide unless there's a damned good reason to argue.”

“Stand together or fall separately,” Galahad remembered Bedivere saying something similar in the training fields back at Camelot.

“The lessons you take into battle and the lessons to get you through the rest of your life have a lot of overlap,” Kai heard himself say, “Different expressions, but the same roots.”

Bedivere rose to his feet. “Somehow damned near the entire day has gotten away from us. While, without going into detail, we're not eating any of the stag, there's bound to be _something_ we can eat.”

“I saw some chickens,” Galahad suggested, “We could see what their going rate is.”

“No fucking chickens,” Bedivere snapped before walking away.

Galahad looked to Kai for direction. Kai shook his head, but a small smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.

“Food,” Kai told the younger two, “then everything else.”

Galahad and Mordred rose to their feet. Mordred turned to offer Kai a hand to either grasp or steady himself. Kai hesitated for a moment before taking it. Kai pulled himself up and Mordred kept his arm steady.

“Thanks,” Kai had the grace to say.

Mordred offered a curt nod in acknowledgment.

Galahad stayed behind for a moment, wondering what changes were starting to take shape.

“I wish you could see this, da,” he let himself whisper before he joined the others.

**Author's Note:**

> This part is mostly setting the stage for the next few parts, with a hearty side of character development.


End file.
